The house is still.

Empty rooms soaked in midnight.

Aching lyrics raw inside melancholy notes, seep sigh into weary, lonely bones.

Waiting is the game.

Night after night,

Her fingers reach out.

Grasping blindly into that saturated midnight.

Seeking comfort from the strong arms and callused hands of the one,

who does not yet know her name.

Chelsey Whitlow



Settle in, Love.

Settle in to this older skin.
Settle in and revel in the wonder of her.

Revel in her curves, her callused hands, her wiser eyes, each born from this desert land.

Revel in her freckles and her scars,

contraband from sorrow and from sun.

Revel in her wild and reckless thoughts,

Tempered now by compassion

and driven by relentless love.

Revel in her running away

and in her standing firm.

Revel in her story so far…

A story of darkness

and of miraculous Light.

Settle in, Love.
For her time has come.

Chelsey Whitlow


I spent this morning remembering her.
Windows rolled down.

That one song playing on repeat, its haunting lyrics tangling with the wind in my hair.

The open road drawing me out of the city.
I walked our trail.

Red dirt dusting my sandaled feet.

The Sun and the wild soaking deep into the freckled skin she gave me.

Remembering yellow roses scattered and the bittersweet moment of letting go.

Remembering how to breathe through life and the grief that creeps in and the growing older without her.
I sank down into that ground.

Her place…

Nestled under rare, cool shade,

cut through by gently rushing water,

Sparkling with speckles of sunlight.
The memory of her belongs here…

Dust and ashes and spirit in a place wild with peace.
And each time I come back,

I’m brought back to center.

Each I come back,

I remember how to breathe deep again.

I remember the strength, that perfect spark of madness her story bestowed upon mine.


I remember where I came from,

before her world went dark.

Chelsey Whitlow